The Distant Crown
Did Mirsada Sargsyan ever truly see the shadow, or did he only feel its weight on the back of his neck? I The rain in Nairobi was cold as March, a physical fact that soaked through the thin walls of the estate blocks. Mirsada stood at the window of the startup’s meeting pod, watching the drive-in below where the last picture of the season was playing to an empty lot. He was thirty years old, a...
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